


Half Past Seven

by dreamtowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Mild Language, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, it's TECHNICALLY major character death because it's time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-16 11:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: “Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” Prompto stares at the two teens before him calmly. Which he is. Calm. Prompto Argentum is the epitome of calmness right now. Yes, he is.They don’t meet his gaze. Noctis coughs.“No one? Not even a small hint?”Luna folds her hands on her lap. She looks proper and adjusted despite her singed clothes, the soot and dirt and other questionable stains Prompto is having an utter headache thinking about. There is blood splattered on her cheekbones. Wisely, he does not ask. Noctis, per usual, looks like he’s gone through a train wreck five times.Prompto is calm. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s the waiting game. He could sit there for hours until one of them cracked and spilled—and they would. Noctis’s expression spasms when Prompto stares in his direction.“It’s all Luna’s fault,” says Noctis. Luna’s composure dwindles, and she sputters in a way that’s decidedly as un-Oracle-like as possible.





	Half Past Seven

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its’ creator, Square Enix. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors!

Prompto wakes to find that the world has inarguably gone to chaos. Not only is he fifteen-years-old again, it’s his first day of high school and yet he’s not in his class. No, he scrolled through his social media accounts that morning and saw the breaking news that someone assassinated Emperor Aldercapt that morning, half of his inner circle disappeared (and were presumed dead), and the esteemed Chancellor Ardyn Izunia had been found dead in his office.

Wisely, he decided to stay home and miss his classes.

The school would probably call his parents—and _gods_, that was trippy to think about; Prompto hadn’t talked to his parents in decades—but, honestly, Prompto really, really didn’t care at the moment. He’d weather through the inevitable lecture about the importance of education like he weathered through all of his parents’ lectures. He’s not sure why they care.

If he remembered correctly, they haven’t been home in five months.

His phone rings when he’s choked down some cereal. It’s not the school nor his parents. It’s a number he’s memorized for more than half his life—but, technically, he’s never memorized it because he hasn’t befriended Noctis yet and, therefore, didn’t have the clearance and—

Prompto answers before he gives himself a bigger headache. “Hello?”

“Prompto!” Noctis chirps on the other end. Prompto knows that tone—he’s gotten into so much shit because of it. “Hey—do you still keep your spare keys in the, um, flowerpot?”

Prompto doesn’t want to know how Noctis knows that. Neither of them have been in Prompto’s home in over _thirty years_. He isn’t even sure if his home survived the Fall or the Long Night.

“Yup.”

“Sweet,” Noctis says, and then promptly hangs up.

Prompto stares down at his blank screen.

If he had gone to school, he would’ve been in his third period. Lucian History. He sighs and starts scrolling through his various social media accounts for updated news. Various research facilities that were “shockingly involved in human experimentation” were burned to the ground overnight, and a good portion of the military—the human one, at least—was no longer there.

_i think it’s a resistance movement? _a twitter user suggested in the tag. _i mean. it makes the most sense imo. _

_im honestly not surprised that the empire tortured babies, _another one said. _i just hope they can rehabilitate MTs _

Prompto resists the urge to click out of his social media. The small of his wrist itches.

It’s half-past ten in the morning when the newest bit of news rolls in—Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya are missing. Everyone connects it to the turmoil within Niflheim, but no one assumes they’re behind the chaos. People think Noctis had been kidnapped overnight. Someone claims he ran away to join the resistance movement in Niflheim. A couple of people are tweeting wild theories that he and Lunafreya eloped despite Noctis being a minor.

Thankfully, those theories were shut down.

Prompto closes out of social media and makes himself a cup of tea. As an afterthought, he prepares two more cups and two sandwiches. He hopes Lunafreya will like that he’s cut the PB&J sandwich into the shape of a star.

When it reaches eleven, his front door opens. He doesn’t bother going to see his visitors. He already knows who it is.

Noctis rounds the corner, Luna at his heels, and smiles in greeting. “Hey, Prom! Prom . . . this is Luna. Luna, Prompto.”

Prompto’s a little amused that Noctis’ introducing them. They are literally married. Well.

They were.

In the afterlife.

Prompto needs some ibuprofen, please and thank you.

Luna smiles brightly at him, dimples just as precious as they were before. Shiva take the _wheel_, Prompto doesn’t think he can handle this.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prompto.” After a head tilt, she adds: “Well. _Remeet_ you.”

“Likewise,” Prompto replies, and then spends the next few minutes, after they all settle down at the table, drowning in tea. “So . . .,” he says once he’s done enacting his death, “it seems like you two had a busy morning.”

Noctis, sandwich halfway to his mouth, freezes.

Luna takes a delicate sip of her tea.

“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” Prompto stares at the two teens—well, technically, Luna is a _young adult_ — before him calmly.

Which he is. Calm. Prompto Argentum is the epitome of calmness right now. Yes, he is. They don’t meet his gaze.

Noctis coughs.

“No one?” Prompto tries again, though he knows he won’t get much success. “Not even a small hint?”

Luna folds her hands on her lap. She looks proper and adjusted despite her singed clothes, the soot and dirt and other questionable stains Prompto is having an utter headache thinking about. There is blood splattered on her cheekbones. Wisely, he does not ask. Noctis, per usual, looks like he’s gone through a train wreck five times.

He has no idea how they managed to get inside his neighborhood undetected, never mind the entire fucking _city_. Then again, people were quite oblivious to what was in front of them.

_People like to see what they want to see, after all, _he adds to himself.

Prompto is calm. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s the waiting game. He could sit there for hours until one of them cracked and spilled—and they would. Noctis’s expression spasms when Prompto stares in his direction.

“It’s all Luna’s fault,” says Noctis.

Luna’s composure dwindles, and she sputters in a way that’s decidedly as un-Oracle-like as possible. “You stabbed the Accursed with a _spoon.”_

“At least I’m being creative here, okay? _You _smothered Aldercapt with his fucking pillow!”

Prompto pinches the bridge of his nose. Distantly, he wonders if this is what Ignis felt. Feels. Astrals, he wants a vat of the strongest whiskey possible. _Oh wait, _he thinks tiredly, _I’m underage now. _

“A spoon?” he says tiredly. “You stabbed the Accursed—the Chancellor of Niflheim—_Ardyn fucking Izunia _with a _spoon_?”

“He doesn’t know it was me,” Noctis points out, and then, after a beat, “Well . . . I’m sure he figured it out once he started dying—but I kept my features covered!”

“I did as well,” Luna says primly. “Umbra and Pryna were lovely helpers.”

Prompto considers going back to bed. 

He, instead, checks his social media again. The Citadel released a press statement over Noctis’ disappearance, confirming that the crown prince wasn’t in his bed in the royal suite that morning. They offered quite the award for anyone to come forward with information. A tag, _#comehomenoct_, is trending. Some handfuls of people are already mourning.

“And _what _are you going to tell everyone, Noct?” Prompto asks tiredly. He gives his empty teacup a mournful glance. “You’ve been declared missing since third period—people are already thinking you’re dead.”

By Noctis’ budding smile, Prompto already knows what he’s going to say. The _asshole_. _Why am I in love with him? _Prompto thinks as he watches that smile.

“I’ll just apologize and say I spent the night with my beautiful boyfriend,” Noctis says, so prim and proper it makes Prompto want to squirt toothpaste up his nose.

He settles for throwing a crumpled napkin.

“You’re just gonna throw me to the dogs like that, huh?” Prompto deadpans, and Noctis sputters. “I think that’d cause even more of a scandal—and I don’t want to get thrown in some underground dungeon amid accusations of deflowering you.”

Luna snorts.

“If anything, _I’ll _be the one doing the deflowering,” says Noctis. The grin on his face _does not _belong on the baby-faced cheeks of a fifteen-year-old.

Luna brings her palm to her face and looks positively delighted by the conversation. “Oh, how _scandalous_.”

Prompto rests his forehead against the cool faux wood of his table. “I’m going to live in the Vesperpool. They can’t throw me in the dungeon if I’m not inside the city.”

Noctis throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have a dungeon, Prom!”

“That’s what you want me to think!” The light and teasing atmosphere was a wonderful respite from the previous tension, but Prompto has to burst some bubbles, much to his dismay. “However, . . . no, I don’t think that’s the way to go. The Citadel’s already released a press statement about it.”

Noctis makes a face and rests his forehead on the tabletop. “Dunno, then.”

Prompto steals half of Noctis’ sandwich. “Also—how the hell did we come back? I distinctly remember, you know, being dead and in the afterlife with you two.”

Noctis shrugs.

“I believe our return will remain a mystery,” Luna says primly, and then sets down her teacup and clears her throat. “I have an idea, however, about our dilemma around . . . the disappearance.”

Prompto raises an eyebrow. He’s . . . he’s not liking the gleam in her eyes. It reminds him of the time she persuaded him and Noctis to prank the Wise King. And the Rogue Queen. Prompto has a lot of stories about the afterlife with what he lovingly called the ‘demon duo’, and most of them do not fit the narrative the press has of Noctis or Luna.

Still, though. He has to ask. “What is it?”

A slow smile pulls on her lips. “How do you feel about getting kidnapped?”

* * *

Prompto ends up in Cape Caem.

Somehow, they made it look like he’d been kidnapped. Somehow, his parents returned from their business trip early intent on chewing him out for skipping the first day as they’d gotten a call from the school only to find the house an upturned mess and Prompto’s blood spilled on the floor. Somehow, it became known that Prompto was also missing. Somehow, someone on social media—a girl in his math class he vaguely remembers being wholly convinced he and Noctis were in a relationship even when they weren’t—said _hey wait isn’t that the prince’s friend? _

Because apparently, somehow, someone noticed that during middle school, Noctis and Prompto did that weird thing where they were around each other’s space but never talked to one another—mostly because Prompto was too nervous about being annoying and boring, and Noctis was too anxious over saying the wrong thing again—so they just chilled in quiet while Noctis played games on his phone and Prompto took pictures and somehow, that translated into them _being good friends_.

Somehow, an old classmate of theirs added that they’ve been in the same class since elementary school, and _good friends_ turned into _childhood best friends_.

(Thank you, mass media.)

Somehow, Prompto hasn’t cried yet during all of this. _Yet_ being the keyword. He already feels the budding waterworks for when he’s alone.

“So . . .,” he says as he wraps his arms around his legs. “Tell me again why we’re in Cape Caem?”

“It’s a safe house, technically,” Noctis responds as he reclines on the living room couch. “Only a few people know about it—including me—which is why it’s plausible we would come here instead of, you know, the Wall checkpoints after we escaped our ‘kidnapping’.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Prompto says blankly, possibly for the twelfth time since they smuggled themselves out of Insomnia via an underground network of tunnels he hadn’t known existed.

Luna reaches over and pats his head.

Prompto makes a face. “How . . . how will they know we’re here?”

“I tripped the alarm system,” Noctis replies, far too casual, and flicks on the small TV.

Prompto hasn’t seen that model in years, and _Gods_, he feels old. He feels old and weary and just bone-deep _exhausted. _He had lived through his childhood once before, had gone through all the trials puberty threw at him, and then sacrificed his life before he could really live it—and now he had to deal with time travel?

He wants a refund.

A local news channel comes to life. A newswoman is doing an update on the kidnapping and the unrest in Niflheim before it switches over to a reporter interviewing people in the streets.

_“Honestly, man, I think it’s crazy,”_ says a young woman; they’re in front of a coffee shop_. “Like, not gonna lie, I’m really scared for these kids—like that blond kid and Prince Noctis, they’re just . . . they’re babies, and they were just snatched like that? And there’s all this chaos in the Empire? Yeah, man, it’s insane.” _

_“I hope they’ll be found soon,”_ says another; dressed in sharp business clothes. _“Or, at the very least, find someplace safe until help arrives.” _

Halfway through the news interviews, Noctis’ previous words float to the forefront of Prompto’s mind. Prompto shares a look with Luna, who shares the same befuddled expression, and mouths, “Alarm system?” before he says aloud, “Okay, but that doesn’t explain what we’re going to, you know, tell them?”

“Let me do the talking,” Noctis says, and waves the remote around in an absentminded manner. “Just stay quiet and look appropriately traumatized.”

“This conversation is traumatizing,” says Prompto, and he barely ducks away from Noctis’ tickling fingers.

“Do you know when we will be . . . ah, rescued?” Luna asks, head tilted as she eyes Prompto’s flailing with an amused gleam in her eyes.

“Well.” Noctis peers out the window and hums. “That’s _definitely _a few Glaives climbing up the sidewalk.”

Prompto, not for the last time, regrets telling Noctis where his spare key was.

“Ooh,” says Luna. “Is that Glaive Ulric?”

Noctis’ expression settles into something partly mischievous and partly, wholly _demonic. _“Are you ready to fuck shit up?”

_No, _Prompto thinks. _No, I am not._

Vaguely, he feels like the Astrals are laughing at him. He’d be surprised if they weren’t.

Luna snorts a laugh that isn’t very Oracle-like, and her smile is definitely far too pointed and bloodthirsty. “I’m always ready.”

Prompto only prays to keep what little sanity he had left.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it! I probably won't continue this, but who knows!


End file.
